Free Killer Honeymoon by G.A. McKevett

me. You are the worst bride I have ever had the misfortune of—”
    She ducked as a book sailed past her head, nearly taking off her right ear.
    As Savannah watched Marietta scurry on up the stairs, she murmured, “Well, won’t you just look at that. Given enough motivation, she can make pretty good time on those hooker heels.”
    She turned back to Tammy and Dirk, who were smiling like a couple of yahoos with a twelve-pack of beer watching a wrestling match on TV.
    “Way to go, Savannah,” Tammy whispered. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a week.”
    “Yeah, baby,” Dirk added. “I think that’s the first time I ever had a woman fight another one over me. It was kinda awesome.”
    “Come along, you two,” Savannah said. “Let’s raid the refrigerator and see if we can find us something with a lot of empty calories in it. We’ve got a new case to investigate, and after all that exertion, I need myself an energy boost!”
     
    Instead of sitting in her usual, favorite chair, with its rose-printed chintz and none-the-worse-for-wear pillow, Savannah plopped herself in the middle of the sofa to eat her pecan pie and ice cream. It wasn’t a conscious decision. More of an instinctive one. It wasn’t until she was settled and halfway through her pie that she realized what she had done and wondered about it.
    For many years, Savannah had sat in her chair, and Dirk had sprawled across the sofa. They had talked, laughed, and cursed whatever people or circumstances might be annoying them at the time. They had watched television, petted cats, and munched a wide variety of edibles. When they were extremely tired, they had sat there doing absolutely nothing . . . together. She on her chair, and Dirk on the sofa.
    But tonight, when they, Tammy, and Granny had returned from the kitchen to the living room and chosen their spots, Dirk had situated himself in his usual place on the end of the sofa. And Savannah had parked her backside in the middle next to him.
    Granny was in Savannah’s comfy chair, concentrating on her pecan pie.
    As usual, Tammy was sitting yoga-style on the floor, sipping mineral water with frozen grapes and strawberries floating in it.
    Briefly Savannah wondered if she would do this, year after year. Had marriage changed her life so much that she would forever give up her favorite chair? How much else would she find herself surrendering, before all was said and done?
    She suspected it was just a temporary state of affairs, born of newlywed ardor. She knew herself and Dirk pretty well. They were creatures of habit and comfort. Eventually they’d probably revert to their old routines.
    But for tonight, she enjoyed having her shoulder and arm against his. The warm, solid feel of him. The pleasant emotion that it imparted—a sense of being loved, protected, and looked after by someone who truly cherished her.
    Best of all, she no longer felt so alone in the big, wide world.
    On the other side of her sat her six-foot-three skinny brother, with his carrottop hair and a thin mustache and tiny goatee to match. He had been out running errands for Granny and had arrived after the pie had been distributed. But since he was her favorite brother—her favorite male on the planet, next to Dirk— Savannah had made it up to him by constructing a formidable banana split.
    All that remained in his dish was half of a split banana. None of the Reids were bashful when it came to cleaning their plates.
    “That’s some story you just told us,” Granny said as she set her empty plate on the table beside the chair. “Why do you reckon that woman chief of police acted the way she did?”
    “And her not thoroughly questioning you,” Tammy added. “Even I know that isn’t proper procedure, and I’m not a member of law enforcement.”
    Waycross nodded in agreement. “Then telling the news folks and everybody listenin’ to the television set that lady up and drowned herself in some sorta riptide. What’s all that